"My dear Doctor." The voice was terribly familiar, as was, of course, the man behind it. He was hiding himself, concealed in the shadows at the end of the van. Horribly theatrical. Typical.

The Doctor figured he had no reason to try and get free - the ropes holding his wrists to the arms of the chair were very stubborn - and he wouldn't lose anything besides dignity by waiting for Jo and the Brigadier to arrive and rescue him. That is, if he could stay alive that long. He'd expected a bit of sentimentality, but insofar the Master hadn't found any problem in trying to kill him, and that might not end just because they were face to face. He cleared his throat. "Come out here and let me get a look at you."

"Oh? And why would I-"

"Stop hiding back there in the dark like a coward," the Doctor said, because if there was one thing he could rely on, it was the Master's pride. His vanity. And that, he realized, would be the key to staying alive.

"If you insist." The Master stepped out of the shadows and stood closer to the chair. He held himself well. The way he stood was proper. His suit was perfectly pressed and his hands - gloved, as usual - were clasped neatly behind his back. It was like he was showing off. Perhaps he was.

"Hello," the Doctor said, hoping for a sane, well structured conversation without any death threats or hypnotism. "It's been a while."

"I wish it was longer," the Master snapped. "It would've been longer, if you weren't so appealing to kill."

"You came all the way to Earth for me?"

"I came all the way to Earth," the Master repeated, "for a planet to conquer. It's proving very easy, I'll have you know. You're the only snag, and soon, you won't be."

The Doctor leaned back in his chair. He wasn't frightened, not in the slightest, and he had to let the Master know it without stating it outright. "Because you'll kill me."

"Not immediately."

"How reassuring."

The Master dipped his head in accomodation. "I only want to talk a bit first. Just you and I, just two old friends. I'm sure we have lots to catch up on."

"You've gotten up to trouble upon trouble, no doubt," the Doctor muttered, and hoped it was obviously enough framed as a complement.

The Master smiled at that. "Maybe. I don't want to talk about what I've done. I want to hear about you. Trapped on Earth, it must be…"

"Terrible. It's terrible," the Doctor confessed, truthfully.

"Well." The Master leaned down, getting on eye level with him. He gave the Doctor a pat on the cheek. "It's going to get better. Trust me."

And the Doctor could feel that fog at the edges of his mind. Rude, he thought. He didn't come all the way out here to be hypnotized. Honestly, it was insulting that the Master thought such a second rate trick would work on him. Although, there was a small part of him that said, go with it. Let him in, see what would happen. He knew the Master would only reveal his plans if he thought the Doctor wouldn't remember them afterwards. But it was too much of a risk. "Enough of that," he said, finally. "Stay out of my head, let's be adults about this."

"Pity," the Master said, and straightened back up. "I've a knife, firstly, and I've also a thousand and one other options. I'd give you pick, but you're going to be disagreeable, aren't you." Not phrased like a question.

"You-"

"I'm going to kill you, yes. I've been waiting quite a while to do so." The Master unsheathed a knife.

"I was going to say you look well off," the Doctor finished, and it wasn't a lie. "Really. This body's treating you well."

"Flattery will get you as far as a flat tire, my dear," the Master said, but he raised his free hand to his face, as if reminding himself of his features. He put the knife down, then, and started rummaging through one of the drawers lining the van.

"It's not flattery," admitted the Doctor, and he'd rather not ever have to see what the Master was looking for, sure that if it was indeed preferred over the knife, then it would be worse for him. Keep talking. Trick of the hour is to just keep talking, and to play to the Master's vanity. "I mean, it might be, but… I think it's the eyes. You've got these… wonderful eyes. Wish you'd let me look into them without trying to hypnotize me."

"No thank you," the Master replied neatly. "And do shut up."

"What are you searching for there?" the Doctor asked tentatively, because he might have pushed it too far.

"A rope to strangle you with."

"Oh. Lovely," he muttered, wincing. "This, with the autons. I'll be honest, it's very clever. To go through the company, to… it's good marketing."

"Isn't it just?" The Master grinned, and tried another drawer. "I certainly thought it was good."

"It is."

"I'm humoring you because I'm about to kill you."

"I know."

"Go on."

The Doctor nodded, and tried to think of something good enough to be entertaining, watching the Master carefully. "Well done with the bomb in the trunk."

"I thought it would be darling of me," the Master replied, pulling out a third drawer.

"I suppose you could call it that." The Doctor tipped his head from side to side, trying to pull some of the tension out of his shoulders. He didn't need to be on edge over something he could control. "Someone from Gallifrey popped by to warn me you were here. I've never been so excited, not since before my exile began."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Isn't that just a bit pathetic?" Phrased like a question.

"Perhaps," the Doctor responded, and, surprisingly, he wasn't embarrassed to say it. "I didn't know how much I missed you until you were here."

The Master looked over his shoulder at the Doctor for a moment before going back to the drawer. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Why's that?" The Doctor chuckled, because it seemed a statement that invited a laugh.

"You ought to have known you missed me the entire time."

The Doctor considered. "Fair." And, as he often was, he found himself pleasantly surprised at the success of his last ditch effort. "You know, it really is the eyes," he added, because it really, really was.

The Master pushed the drawer closed and turned around properly, and he was absolutely preening, tilting his head so those eyes caught what little light was in the van. "You think?"

"I do," the Doctor answered, "and your rope's right there on the countertop. You've passed over it at least three times, you can't have missed it."

The Master floundered immediately, eyes going between the rope and the Doctor, obviously trying to think up an excuse, something to cover the fact that he'd fallen into a trap. "Well, I- odd! I don't know how I didn't see it, I-" He snatched it off the countertop. "And you! Why'd you point it out? In a hurry to die, are you?"

"Did you hear that?" the Doctor asked, and, yes, he could have done it a little less dramatically. He was enjoying the moment, and he made a mental note to thank the Brigadier for the perfect timing later. "Car pulling up outside. I'd bet my coat it's my people from UNIT."

The Master ran to the window and lifted the makeshift blinds just a hair, peering out. "I have time to-"

"Kill me? Maybe," the Doctor said, speaking quickly, because while before wasting time had been the name of the game, now he couldn't afford to lose a second. "But you're not going to, or you'd have done it by now. You could get rid of these blasted bindings, but if you don't feel like it I'm sure the fellows out there can do it fine."

"And?" the Master demanded.

"What do you mean?"

"Is that it?"

"And you get out of here," the Doctor finished. "You get out of here, because if they find you, they'll kill you."

The Master got to the back door and stopped again. "Don't you want me dead?"

"Go. Now."

The Master threw the door open, still looking back at the Doctor. He said, "I'll be seeing you again, my dear Doctor," in a way that was surely intended to read as a threat before disappearing through the van door. He slid it shut behind him, and was gone.

For almost an entire blessed minute, the Doctor was completely alone. His back was starting to ache; the hardwood chair wasn't doing him well. He could hear the bustle of UNIT outside the van. He hadn't really done himself any favors letting the Master go. If anything, he'd made his exile perhaps the most exhausting it could possibly be. Being stuck on Earth was one thing. Being stuck on Earth with a stubborn B-grade antagonist was another entirely. And it wasn't just that thwarting whatever extravagant and ridiculous things the Master came up with would be lots of work. It was also that the banter had been so familiar, and it had all clicked so well, and the Master's eyes - that was a whole different level of tiring, because all flattery and all bargaining aside, he couldn't stop thinking about them. He sighed, and accepted that he'd chosen to put himself through this.

Then the door of the van was pulled open, and outside stood Jo, the Brigadier, and half a dozen UNIT agents.

"Finally," the Doctor called, disgruntled. "Took you long enough. My wrists are killing me, someone come in here and cut me loose."

Jo hopped into the van and pulled out a pocket knife to oblige the request. "Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine."

The Brigadier stepped in as well. "Where's the Master?"

"How would I bloody know?" The Doctor rubbed his newly freed wrists. "He wasn't here. One of his autons tied me up and left me, I've been waiting for almost an hour. I wasn't sure who would show first, you or him."

"Well, you're lucky it was us." The Brigadier offered him a hand out of the van.

"Yes, quite."

"We'll get you back to headquarters and we can run scans for auton activity," the Brigadier was saying, as he gestured for some of his agents to investigate the van. "Try and figure out where he might be."

"Very well." The Doctor let Lethbridge-Stewart herd him over to a jeep, and he climbed in.

As they drove back to the UNIT headquarters, the Doctor reminded himself that what he'd done was not betrayal, it was merely evening the odds. It'd be too easy otherwise, and he'd never, ever done something easily when he could make it difficult for himself.

And this certainly would be difficult. Very difficult indeed.